Blurs of Colors
by ApricityinSnow12
Summary: Colors are beautiful. Colors are deadly. Colors are the world, he muses.
1. Red

**Author's Note: Hello! I'm back with my second story :)**

 **This is going to be a series of one-shots on Percy's musings of colors...(Trust me, it will sound better in the story...) Each chapter is going to be a different color, and depending on my mood, I might add a few chapters in Annabeth's point of view, too. Oh, and about the genre; this chapter is closest to angst, I guess, but the genre might change later on, because each color reflects different feelings, and such.**

 **P.S. Thanks to everybody who took time to read my first fanfic, and a special thank you to those who reviewed/fav'ed/followed my story! It really made my day! :D**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson, or any of his amazing friends.**

* * *

Red was vicious. Red was atrocious. Red was dark and the color of the devil.

Red...was his _enemy_.

.

Red splatters where he stands, his hands shaking, even as his knuckles grow white on his grip.

All around him, life is shattering.

Like rubies in the sun, they glitter for a moment before showering down in pieces.

He tries not to feel. Tries not to fall. Tries not to remember at all.

.

Red surrounds him as he sinks under, drowning, drowning, again and again.

Waves of red from oceans of blood.

He doesn't go up, because he knows he's done for.

The surface shines red, like the blanket of velvet on a wedding aisle.

.

Red bubbles up and threatens to spill, to explode like lava in a volcano, because he's watching life wither away, shriveling and crying and _dying_ around him.

Gods, it feels both hot and cold, extreme in the darkness that _his_ life is.

It's hot, hot, _hot_ ; spiking in fury as he stands and sees.

Red marks the victim as it hits with a crack, sharp and loud and harsh, like the bolts of lightning that shoots, way above and across the sky.

.

Red glows waningly in the skies above, and he knows that it is life.

Life is like a red, red star.

It burns bright and it lights the dark, but in the end they turn to ash.

.

His world is washed in red. He knows red like the back of his hand, and he hates it, so so much.

Red kills and breathes. Red burns and cools.

Red is beauty. Red is pain. Red is fury.

Red is _red_.

Red, is his worst, _worst_ enemy.

* * *

He sees red on days like this, in the middle of the War, in the middle of a battle, and he stops for a while to take a look. All around him, people freeze, and _is he the one that's making it happen?_ People are now solid and immovable. Water droplets stay in the air, its resolute defiance of gravity shining. However in this time, things are there that he cannot control.

Even in this time, red does not stop. It rolls around on the ground by his feet, and streams down from his friends' wounds. They have no chance against something like that. He whispers a prayer for each of the fallen.

He moves around each of the statues, but red is the only color he sees. The world is like a canvas of colors, but red is strong, and red is harsh. Soon enough, red is the winner.

Red beats every other color.

He sees things from a veil of red, and he knows who'll live and he knows who'll die. There's a crimson-stained sword that flashes in the sun, and he knows, knows, that once he lets go, his friend-it's _her_ -would die. He wants to stop the weapon from moving, but he can't control this time forever. _I'm so sorry_ -why can't he move? He needs to stop, to protect her, but _please, I can't let go_ -

Time starts again, the sword comes down, and this time, he _is_ red.

* * *

Even when the dream has ended, red remains in the back of his eyes.

Red, red, red, red…

Unforgiving, unforgettable, _carmine, crimson, fire brick, flame, lava, lust, maroon, and scarlet_.

Red is love. Red is hatred. Red is passion. Red is rage. Red is life, and red is death.

He feels red, and he hates red.

After all, red is red.


	2. Blue

**Author's Note: Hello! Here's Chapter 2...and it's blue! Personally, blue is my least favorite color (I know...I have no idea why), but blue is quite obviously Percy's favorite color, and I respect that, so this chapter is happy and peaceful, contrary to Chapter One. It was actually pretty hard to write, since Percy's opinion and mine clashed so much and I couldn't find any reasons as to why blue is good... It's cool if your favorite color is blue. I mean, everyone has their own opinions.**

 **Once again, I thank everyone who is reading this or has read any of my other stories. The reviews/fav's/follows are what I live for, pretty much. Of course, I live for a bunch of other stuff, but...you know what I mean, hopefully. Anyways, enjoy! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I am very sad to say that I do not own the Percy Jackson series or any of its characters.**

* * *

Ever since he was small, blue had been his favorite.

Blue enveloped him, and blue let him be.

Blue comforted him in ways people could not, because blue was a color and colors were the world.

.

Blue shines with happiness through the eyes of his mother.

She embraces him, and happy giggles fill the air.

Giggles like pearls from the blue, blue waters.

In the arms of his mother and in the arms of blue, he is young, innocent, and warm inside.

.

Blue dances inside his mouth, and it's in everything he tastes.

Blue tints his _every_ thing, because she promised; his mother, of course.

He's smell it first, and see it bloom.

In the dim lit light of the heated oven.

Blue grows bigger and then turns crisp.

It's hot, but he eats it anyways.

It burns, along with its delicious taste, but it only brings content, not pain.

.

Blue surrounds him as he sinks, but this time he feels joy, not fear.

Waves crash ashore and it's like a lullaby.

Calming rhythms of the rising, falling, ebbing, and flowing.

Blue is his domain, and it welcomes him.

He opens his eyes as he heads deeper, from light to dark, from warm to cool.

In this blue, he is free.

In this blue, he is himself.

In this blue, he is at home.

.

Blue explodes and spreads throughout.

A million stars in the blanket above him.

Day and night, blue covers the sky.

Blue _is_ the sky, limitless and free.

.

Blue- _his_ color-moves up and down, drawing _blue_ for what it is.

Droplets of blue on his big, blank canvas.

He tilts the board, and blue rolls around.

 _Right, left, curve, and roll_.

He lets the drops go as they like

Because blue is free and true.

.

Blue _is_ his world. Underneath the curtains of red, blue shines in its honest beauty.

He knows red, but he knows blue more.

Like the flow of a river, blue comes to him.

Because he _is_ blue, and blue feels that.

Blue is trust. Blue is faith. Blue is strength, and blue is _blue._

His most favorite color.

Blue understands, so _he_ understands. Blue is dependable, so _he_ is dependable. Blue is loyal, so _he_ is loyal.

Even when the world betrays him, he'll come home and see it blue.

* * *

He sees blue on a sunny day, which is really everyday at camp. The sky shines blue, and he almost reaches out to touch the clouds that float in the endless pools of blue. All around him, people laugh. They run, they dance, they fly. Anything is possible in a day of blue, and so he flies, like everyone else.

The winds caress him as he spreads his wings, and he's free to do all he wants. He swoops down below, takes _her_ hand, and they promise to fly the future together.

Blue reflects in the eyes of their friends as they form a ring and face the sky. For miles and miles, they see blue. It's infinite, limitless in every aspect. In this world of blue, he feels so very small. But he also finds that he does not care.

Blue is large, and it only grows. And while he knows he is but a tiny dot, a simple dust in the universe around him, the thought does nothing but comfort him. He is small. He's close to nothing. But he's still a part in this big, big world, and blue lets him know that.

Lacing his fingers through her skinnier ones, he feels his eyes start to close.

And once he reaches the realm of dreams, all he can see is blue.

* * *

Blue, blue, blue blue.

Blue is the sky. Blue is the ocean. Blue is liberty. Blue is freedom.

 _Celeste, Cerulean, Duke, Iris, Midnight, Sapphire, Teal, Turquoise..._

Blue is his world, and he _loves_ blue.

Blue, after all, is blue.


	3. Grey

**Author's Note: Hello! Okay, so...this chapter is grey, and I have to say this took me quite some time to write. The first problem was probably my lack of love experiences, and the second was that this color has a lot of examples from the book. It was hard to put in the references of these examples while keeping the whole mood, so I think you'll find that this chapter has a different writing style...I'm sorry.**

 **And also, I got this review (I was really happy) where this person told me that they liked orange (...or at least they said orange is the best), so I'm thinking of making the next chapter orange. If anyone has any suggestions to the colors I should write, please tell me! I'm already starting to run out of colors…**

 **As usual, I'd like to thank everyone who read my stories or reviewed, or fav'ed, or followed them. It amazes me each time I get an email saying somebody reviewed/ fav'ed/ followed my stories :D**

 **Disclaimer: No, I am not the owner of the Percy Jackson series or any of its characters. That would be Rick Riordan.**

* * *

Grey...was dull.

It was lifeless, _blank_ in a way white fails to be, and it was so...frustrating and in-between.

It wasn't innocent enough to be white.

It wasn't intense enough to be black.

Grey reminded him of all those years, trapped in the path between desperation and denial, trying to shun the _world_ that, in turn, shunned _him._

Grey squeezed his young heart with cold, cold hands.

All he ever wanted was to be accepted, to be _loved_.

.

He never expected grey to be the color.

To flip his world over, and show him the world.

Show him all the love he ever yearned and ever needed.

He joked it would be red. He thought it would be blue.

Grey? ...Not so much.

.

But it _did_ , did it not?

.

Grey sparkles with life and love, and he almost believes it's just pretend.

They're both _smiling, happy,_ and _full of hope_.

And by the gods, there's nothing, _nothing_ in-between about that.

It's _love_ and all its sweet honey drops.

.

Grey fills all the empty spaces in his heart

And he realizes grey is not cold at all.

Grey is this fire, bursting, raging, _flaming_ inside-

He feels it erupt from the bottom of his soul

And once it does, it lights _everything_ in his world.

Grey to him is always grey _-startling and intimidating but pretty nonetheless-_ just like those storm clouds that flash over the earth.

And _gods_ , does grey startle him.

.

Grey shines with something new.

 _Jealousy? Hatred? Resentment?_

He's almost surprised when it feels cold, like the winter winds and their frost.

Grey puzzles him, because they're conflicted.

He wonders, he worries, he concerns-

Until, of course, grey fills his mind.

And it doesn't leave for ever, ever since he felt those lips as they shyly pecked his cheek.

 _It hardly mattered when he blew up after that. All he could think of was grey._

.

Grey anchors him as he drowns, and it's his only, _only_ saving grace.

Other faces all whiz by, and he needs to catch them, _one_ of them-

Because he's drowning.

Because he's burning.

There's pain, pain, lots of _pain,_ and he's convinced that he _is_ pain.

It's red in the river and he's losing grip-

Dying, dying, grasping at air…

And then through the endless tunnels of red, he sees and reaches to grey.

She's laughing and offering him a hand.

Red turns to blue and cools the pain, and next he knows, he's safe.

Grey saves him as it always does, and he's not that surprised it's grey,

.

Grey reflects blue, and he thinks it's the most beautiful color he's ever, _ever_ seen.

He tastes blue, and but he sees grey.

Endless, _endless_ pools of grey, and they tell him everything he needs to know.

Water splashes above, and they're surrounded by blue.

But this time, he's looking at grey.

He stares into those grey, grey eyes, and they willingly stare back, filled to the depths with something powerful.

It makes him feel... _warm._

And then her lips meet his, and all he can _think_ is...well, he actually finds it hard to think.

But those grey pools are clear for once, and they're sparkling, glittering with something for _him._

 _Love._

 _._

Grey is all he remembers.

Blank space fill his mind, and all he _knows_ is grey.

He misses grey.

He loves grey.

He simply wonders why.

There's also a name and a blurry face, and striking, startling grey.

 _Gods, oh gods,_ he _really_ needs to find this grey…

...and he does.

He sees grey, and it's just like his memory.

 _Startling, intelligent, wise, beautiful…_

There's a bit of fear and relief and disbelief

And then deep down, there's love.

* * *

He sees grey every time he's with _her_. He feels a bit of red, and he knows a lot of blue, but grey is the color he _sees_. He lets her take him wherever she wants, because he knows he'll be fine, as long as _she's_ there. And so she guides him through crossings and alleys, and a smile lights his face when he realizes where this is…

They reach the top-the _mortal_ top-and he's surprised to see almost no one there. It's all too peaceful, and all too beautiful, and he faintly wonders if this is a dream.

He's been higher in the air. He's felt more wind on his face. He's seen better views, but this-this is _perfect._

The sky is a palette of light red and darkening blue, and grey, grey stars start to fill the space.

Then, of course, there's his favorite shade of grey.

They shine like the moon, and glitter like the stars; they're intense and passionate, calculating but soft, and they're the stormy clouds over their heads and the valuable silvers lying in the ground.

He gives her a grin, a truly happy one, and she smiles back in understanding and relief.

They hold hands.

They lean closer.

The moon is rising-it's grey, as well-and the beads on their necklaces grow light in the wind.

He's happy like this, truly, _truly_ happy, and he wants things to stay like this forever.

 _If this is a dream,_ he thinks, staring at the perfect shade of grey, _I truly hope I never wake up._

* * *

And it's not a dream.

Grey, grey, grey, grey.

It's a reality, perfect and floating, and he's now convinced he's truly in love.

Grey is changing. Grey is wise. Grey is burning, and grey is passionate.

 _Island white, sea foam, evening shadow, and thunder sky._

Grey is true. Grey is rich.

Grey, to him, is _love._

Grey, he finds, is grey.


	4. Black

**Author's Note: I...am back. I am _so_ sorry that this story hasn't been updated for-what, 2 months? I am extremely sorry. I know I said I'll do the color orange, but I realized that I've been writing all happiness for the past two chapters, so I decided to do something...darker, instead. I think this chapter was kind of easy to relate to-for me, that is-but it was still a little bit of a challange, since...well, Percy's more of a happy guy in the original series. I had to go through some parts of the books, trying to find something that matched this chapter's theme.**

 **Also, I wanted to thank emosewa-13 and The Mysterious Masked Hunter for their amazing reviews. Honestly, when I read these reviews, it made my life feel a little more worth living for. Maybe it sounds really dramatic, but it makes me so happy (actually, happy doesn't cut it. I just can't...really find a word that fits) to see these reviews. There's some people around me who think this-me writing fanfiction-is silly, or even worthless. But these reviews make me feel a little bit better. It makes me want to continue writing. So thank you.**

 **Once again, I'm sorry for the late update. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Black chased him deep into the night.

When twilight fell and the lights flickered off; when the moon was a sardonic smile on the sky, his fears circled the room in dancing shadows and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Black was deep. Black was endless. Black was his monsters sleeping in his mind.

At night, black awakened.

.

Black welcomes him as it stretches on the ground.

Whispers of promises and a better future.

 _Who is he to believe such lies?_

Yet he falters in his refusal and he hears it smile. It draws him in like a mouse to a trap, and his feet move with wills of their own.

" _Come, my boy. Join me in my rise."_

His foot slips on the sand below, and he loses the ground as he falls inside.

" _Yes, my boy. Come…"_

Even when the sun shines through his window, all it does is cast more shadows. He shivers a little, grips his necklace, and he knows that the seeds of black have been planted.

.

Black spreads where he stands, and he sees it intertwine with his hopes and his future.

Cold blue eyes stare through his friend, and maybe for the first time, he doesn't like this blue. Even from their distance, he notices the black that lurks in blue, and he wonders if his eyes reflect the same color.

Blue and black.

 _Green_ and black.

 _Why does he even fight anymore?_

But their weapons collide and he tries not to yield. He feels black, anguish and sorrow, flowing through his _home_ and he continues his struggle.

He fights black because he gave into red, and he owes it to himself to never give up.

 _Black_ does not belong in his home.

.

Black surrounds him for days on end.

He _lives_ in black, and black knows that.

Black is in the air he breathes. Black is in the ground he steps on. Black is in the fire he drinks.

And worst of all, black is in the grey he loves.

.

Black invites him, deep inside.

Down in the pit where black dominates all, he feels himself begin to listen. The music of black is like the Siren's song.

He fights. He wins. _His monsters stay._

He struggles. He loves. _He's whisked away._

He sacrifices everything- _everything_ there is -but black is persistent in its chase.

Down in the pit, he begins to listen.

Green turns darker, and he's not drowning anymore. It's his monsters that suffer, and he loves it.

Something cold grips his heart, but it simply fuels him more.

He only stumbles back when he sees her grey, and his eyes flash black with fear.

He swears he'll never let black rule him.

 _And he's known for keeping promises._ Most _of the time._

 _._

Black is the color he fears the most. Even more than red, because he _knows_ red.

Black is unpredictable. Black is sly.

Black has the power to turn _him_ black, and _gods,_ it scares him, so, _so_ much.

He's afraid that he'll wake up, and all that's left in him will be the handprints of black.

* * *

He sees black on nights like this, when the clouds cover the stars and the light of the moon. He's all alone in the darkness that blinks, _and what better prey than the sitting duck?_ He feels the hands of the shadows that lurk, and his breathing gets faster and heavier at once.

He's deprived of sleep and so, _so_ tired, but he can't sleep. He can hardly breathe. His feet feel like they're dragged in water, and every step is an effort in the dark.

His heart freeze over when he sees his mirror.

His reflection is nothing but a dark, _black_ shadow. It reaches out and tries to grab him, and it's all he can do to keep from screaming. Something covers his nose and his mouth, and he kicks out, struggling for air. But the shadows are like a bottomless pond, and the hands keep pulling him under.

He loses grip of whatever sanity remained, and nothing seems real but the fear that spreads within.

* * *

Grey eyes find him once the sun is up, but he can't explain his struggle, his _fear._

Black, black, black, black.

Black is alluring. Black is smooth. Black is the treacherous waters of insanity.

Black lies. Black kills.

Black is alone; no shades, no types.

Black, he knows, is _black._


End file.
